


Alternate Universe

by FreckledSaint



Series: Personal Hans Week [5]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - fire powers! Hans, Family, Gen, Humor, Inspired by The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (1820), My own lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25450186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSaint/pseuds/FreckledSaint
Summary: You could say bursting into flames was his specialty. His father breathed fire just like a dragon, his fourth brother manipulated lightning, and Hans was a walking torch.
Relationships: Hans & Hans's Brothers (Disney)
Series: Personal Hans Week [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838899
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Alternate Universe

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a fairytale fire! Hans AU that was heavily inspired by Washington Irving’s “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” and Grimm’s Fairy Tales!

Needless to say, Hans was not in the habit of being out in the dark. He liked the great outdoors; the wind in his hair, the moon shining like a silver coin pleased him. That, however, did not mean he enjoyed riding after his reckless brother in the middle of the woods. It was the hour of ghosts, too. Dawn was hours away, and Hans could hear beasts howling under the cover of a black shroud.

He hoped those were wolves. Though Maron, his brother, insisted the cries belonged to the dead and forced him to stay with the horses while he went off exploring. He refused to tell him _for what_ exactly he was searching; just told him to stay put and go up in flames if something came at him.

You could say bursting into flames was his specialty. His father breathed fire just like a dragon, his fourth brother manipulated lightning, and Hans was a walking torch. Not the most versatile (or safest) ability, but one that easily scared animals – and most fae folk, if Maron was to be trusted – and the reason why he was out in the woods in the first place.

Their father had disliked the fae for as long as he could remember. The man was terrified of losing his sons to trolls or pixies or fairies. Iron charms and wards accumulated in their house like scruffy old dresses and board games did in others. And even before they left the house a few hours earlier, Father draped them in protective amulets and gave Hans his blessing to set the forest alight should they be cornered by trolls, dwarves, elves, nøkken, valravns, tupilaks, hulders, etc.

Mother, upon hearing what her husband was condoning, stuck her head out the window and said, “Use your gifts if necessary, but take care that you do not ignite dry grass or hollow elms. When God gives you a blessing, you do not use it to destroy his lands.”

“Maron says that pagan forces rule the forest,” said Hans.

She frowned, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “The creatures in the forest are evil, not the forest itself. Anyway, your flames are dangerous in their own right: your brother is vulnerable to burns, unlike you. Be mindful.”

Hans nodded. It was common, almost expected, that those kissed by fire did not burn (and if by chance they did, then everyone else must have already been incinerated). But for the longest time, the family had no idea if Hans had inherited this gift and told him not to use his fire without an adult nearby. It was better to be safe than sorry, and that policy was effective. Well, it was until one snowy morning when he decided that the fireplace looked alluringly cozy.

His eldest brother and mother nearly dropped dead upon seeing him sitting in the grate, laughing merrily as he drew little stars and hearts on himself with soot. And, needless to say, the frilly white dress he wore did not survive the crawl into the grate.

Leaves rustled, and the horses’ ears perked up in attention. Then Maron’s loud voice boomed as he emerged from the night. Twigs and dust stuck to his curly head, and there was a big goofy smile on his face.

“No fairies!” he announced. “And I was sure we would see some. The hour is right, the moon is full, and you’re here.”

“What does my presence have to do with anything?”

Maron poked Hans’ chest with his index finger, grinning. “My hope was that the fairies will be intrigued by you since you are fire-blessed. How very rude of them to leave us shivering while they’re dancing in their moonlit palaces, isn’t it? They are supposed to be the good fairies as well.”

“If the good fairies are reveling in their palaces,” said Hans as he climbed back onto his horse, “then what, pray tell, are their evil brethren doing? Well, they are all evil – Father says so.”

“Of course, he’d say that,” laughed Maron, settling in his own saddle. “I expected nothing else from a man who nailed iron horseshoes on our cribs and doorways lest we be stolen by trolls. As for your question, I’d reckon the devils are swapping children or tempting men into lives of sin.” He paused, and added, “Alright, Father’s practice may have been justified. But surely there is a limit to how much iron we can wear on our person at a time.”

Hans raised his wrist, shaking the iron chain bracelets so that they clinked against each other. “Maybe. But none out of thirteen have been swapped or tempted, and the charms may have contributed to that.”

The horses trotted out of the forest at a leisurely pace. Hans was glad that he could see the sky whole again – inside the forest it was a grim, shattered thing peeking down the bare ash trees. Autumnal winds picked up speed as they rode up a hill, and he swore he could hear a valravn cawing in the distance.

For all that he joked at Father’s staunch beliefs, Hans was grateful to have iron on him.

“Hans, look! Look over there,” said Maron suddenly, pulling at his sleeve and pointing at figures across the meadow. Despite it already being the hour of the raven, the moon’s bright light revealed two silhouettes: a woman with loose hair and a man chasing after her, both were on horseback. “Can you see the people over there?”

“I can,” said he slowly. “Do you want to do something?”

“We can’t exactly let the scoundrel get away with whatever he wishes!”

“We do not have the means! I’ve no weapons on me and you only have three arrows left in your quiver.”

Maron cursed under his breath, and Hans wondered if his brother will break into a gallop anyway. That was the issue with travelling in the dark: unsavory characters and animals were most active when respectable (or just sensible) folk were at home by the fire. Whatever ill fortune that befell the woman must have been truly foul to drive her out of the house at night.

“Do you remember,” began Maron, “that collection of American short stories Uncle Ivar gifted me a few years back? Remember the story with the headless horseman?”

“What are you plotting?” asked Hans sharply.

“I would like to scare that man. And I know we’ve no weapons so shut up!” His brother rubbed the back of his neck, and an audible pop came from his left shoulder. “I’m not suggesting that we kill that horseman – we haven’t got the tools, as you’ve said – but we can give him a good scare.”

Staring at him, Hans disliked the mischievous smile worn by his brother. It usually meant that whatever the scheme was, he would have do the bulk of the work. Even the steadying hand on his shoulder did not reassure him. “Do you not have better ideas? It feels like we skipped plans A, B, C, and D, and went straight to E. What if we scare the man to death?”

“That is what he gets for chasing a woman.” Maron huffed out a dry chuckle. “It is very ungentlemanlike.”

***

Chasing women was ungentlemanlike – Hans had to agree – though sitting shirtless atop a horse also bordered on indecency in his book.

Manipulating fire was a blessing. And it was a blessing that would devour one’s wardrobe if they were careless. He had heard that there was a girl across the sea who manipulated ice, and he bet she never lost her clothes to her gifts. Hans also thought that controlling ice must consume less energy than fire. The only reason his brother’s harebrained scheme was possible was because their mother prepared a large dinner before they left.

Fairy-hunting was serious business (and also their eleven brothers had all been at home) so there was pea soup, charred herring, pan-fried eels, roast pork with crackling, and several fruit and pies served at the table. It had been a delicious, filling meal and one that let Hans burn bright.

Maron and him had split up right at the slope; the former galloped towards the man from the rear while the latter was to bar him path from the front. It was a half-baked plan, in his own opinion, yet he still obeyed his brother and rode in the opposite direction.

Considering the flames had engulfed his arms, shoulders, and head, Hans was exceedingly proud of his Sitron for keeping calm. Other horses in the stable would not have liked it one bit – probably would have thrown him off their backs – and Sitron, clever creature that he was, just continued as usual.

The rising winds worried him. Although Hans could direct flames as he pleased and spark fires as he wished, gusts of wind sometimes carried embers away and caused damage. His father had snuffed them out before any lasting effects could be done, but his dear old papa was at home, probably reading to Mother as she sewed.

He clenched his hand into a fist, watching the skin glow white like stars. Should some fool be brave (or stupid) enough to touch him, their skin would bubble and burst like caramel in a saucepan. _I’ll need to jump into a lake or river afterwards,_ he thought. 

Sitron, who still did not care that his rider was literally on fire, neighed loudly at sudden approaching yells. Looking up, he saw his brother trying to grasp the man’s cloak as they scurried along the beaten path. With a crack of the reins and an encouraging command, Hans galloped up the hill and rushed in between the strangers.

The woman cried in alarm at his appearance – he wondered whether she could discern his face from inside the fire – and rode off screaming. The man meanwhile gasped in horror and shrieked, “Heavens save me!”. Just as Hans was about to ask him his business with the woman, Maron came up from behind and knocked him out cold with a swing of his heavy lantern.

Hans _very carefully_ slid out of the saddle and ran up to the unconscious body. The man was unremarkable, which meant he looked like every common villager the young man had ever encountered in his life. Maron proved to be a more interesting sight. The flames fluttering off his body lit up his brother’s manic countenance, and he had no idea whether the flushed cheeks were caused by the cold, the heat, or plain excitement.

“Was that not fun?” laughed Maron as he raised his hand to grasp his brother. Then he remembered that that would kill or maim him, and backed down. “It’s been a while since I chased strange men across the meadow!”

Choosing to ignore that incredibly suspicious comment, Hans flatly asked whether the man was dead or not.

“Oh?” Maron poked the man with his foot. “He’s fine. See his chest? It rises and falls like any other living man’s would. As for you,” he sized Hans up with gleaming eyes, “can you cool down by yourself or do you need water to help? I haven’t seen you burn this bright in years, goodness gracious.”

“This was your idea,” said Hans, folding his arms. “I think I can cool myself down, it’d take over an hour though. I’d much prefer being in water right now, you know.”

Maron nodded and shaded his eyes with his left hand. “There is a river cutting through the forest, but you’ll uh- you’ll destroy the trees along the way. There’s a lake to the north, but if the woman spots us then we’ll give her grief and she has had enough for one night.”

They’ve really found themselves in quite a conundrum. As fun as it was to ignite himself and blaze merrily like a hearth, cooling down was often a problematic affair. Hans never had issues with raising his temperature, his plight was not being able to drop it quickly enough. It was worse when he was little; his parents used to dunk him in a wash basin or a tub of ice to lessen his heat. 

“Is there no other body of water beside the river and the lake? I swear you told me there was a pond somewhere around here.”

“You want to swim in a pond? _You_?” repeated Maron, incredulous.

“Do you have any other options?”

“Not really,” his brother conceded. “We will have to take the long route though. The shortcut goes through the wheat fields and…”

“We do not want me to be the reason the community starves this winter?” Hans chuckled. “It’s fine. I think the horses will enjoy a long walk; how often do we get to leave the house overnight by ourselves, right?”

Maron flashed a wide smile. “Now that is a great attitude to have, dear brother! And if we are lucky, we might trick some village kids into thinking you’re a lygtemand. Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Ooh, I like the idea of becoming a character in local folklore!”

His brother laughed, beckoned the horses closer, and teased Hans for his vanity. The long walk to the pond might take an hour on foot so they might as well have a lively chat. Maron snuffed his lantern and took off his cloak, placing them on the back of his horse. After all, why would he need a lantern or woolen cloaks when he had a walking, talking torch by his side?


End file.
